I couldn’t beat the ceiling fan,
or that wonderful breeze.
Closing my eyes at 4 in the morning
is a plea for something better. An electric chair
wake up call.

Then I think I can get famous
for writing my sweet nothings on a bathroom stall.
But falling asleep on drugs , I’m wondering , “Where the **** am I”

Then it’s a Denys and it’s 3 hours earlier
And we’re all shooting **** while Fried potato
sticks twist around in our mouths.

You were talking life
and all these pretty words you’d never seen,
I was too high to care.

But the come down left my stomach
like an old gravel road.
I wanted to throw up hot asphalt.

But you smiled like “Let’s light up again”.
I ran to take a ****,
Hid in the bathroom and picked up a pen.
Then wrote out.

“4:00am and you’re too ****** to know I can’t stand
you now. Here’s a note, and a ten. Get a cab
and good luck with the rest of your life.”


That’s what best friends are all about.
Rotting together in each other’s *******.

But God that ceiling fan is good.
Clicking away like a countdown clock
on a stick of dynamite.
Looking forward to that sweet mid 20’s self destruction,
I assure you.

-Kevin T 6/16/10